


Small moments and cups of tea

by Twolittlesparrows



Series: The Lord, The Lady and The Surprisingly Lucky Sam Vimes [2]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Genderqueer Character, Lesbian AU, Lesbians, Multi, Other, Short, Trans Character, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twolittlesparrows/pseuds/Twolittlesparrows
Summary: A Collection of fluff and drabbles that pop in my head while working on larger pieces. Is a part of my lesbian triad AU but mostly focusing on smaller character moments and just playing around :)Got a request for a scene? Let me know!If you like my work, please consider giving me a follow  on Tumblr atNeon-Goblin-ArtI post fanart and updates there :D Thanks!
Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes, Sybil Ramkin/Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes, Sybil Ramkin/Samuel Vimes
Series: The Lord, The Lady and The Surprisingly Lucky Sam Vimes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648069
Comments: 25
Kudos: 35





	1. Pantries and Paintings

‘So, you’ve always been an assassin?’ 

Vetinari looked up from her cup of tea. They sat on the balcony outside the Oblong Office, the sun kept off her by an umbrella stuck in the middle of the small round table. It was a lurid ugly thing, red, blue and yellow that wobbled in the breeze. She had two biscuits lined up on her plate, a third in her hand held halfway between the tea it had been dipped in and her mouth. 

‘What are you on about, Vimes?’ 

‘You never, I don’t know, picked up a trade?’ Sam was eating some form of greasy street food she had collected on her way to the palace. The paper bag was see through in places. Vetinari closed her nostrils to the smell of it. 

‘A trade? By your definition, then I suppose, no?’ She set her biscuit down. ‘Is that so odd? You’ve always been a watchman.’ 

‘Not true, I was a maid for a week.’ 

Vetinari snorted. She couldn’t help it. ‘Truly? And you lasted a whole week? I am impressed.’ 

Sam grinned that grim grin of hers, eyes darkening, ‘I had to wear a dress. And the man of the house was never satisfied with the work. Scrubbed my hands raw. They went through maids like you wouldn’t believe. Anyway, I took up the job when I was...14? Thought it was the best thing. A half dollar a day for something I was helping mum do anyway?’ She shifted in her seat, putting her food down. Sam leaned forward, ‘Found out on my fourth day why they went through maids so fast. Fucker was handsy. Cornered me in the pantry, while I was dusting-’ 

‘Why were you dusting in the pantry?’ 

‘I was hungry. He comes up behind me, bold as anything. Except he normally preyed on girls who hadn’t learned to scrap yet – I think I was older than his usual choices-’ Sam stopped here, then shrugged a shoulder, ‘He never did get back to eating solid foods.’ 

Vetinari had steepled her fingers under her chin, watching the space above Vimes, ‘And then you became a watchman?’ 

‘At 16. It was that or become a seamstress.’ 

And then Vetinari smiled. It was whip quick, but stayed in her eyes while Sam went back to eating her greasy food. Havelock reached over and patted her knee. ‘I studied art history...’ 

Sam giggled, cocking a brow, ‘How? Here is a painting. It is old. Here is another painting, it is less old?’ 

‘Here is a painting depicting the grounds keeper of the old king of Quirm, however the pigments used in the shading of the clouds were made from the crushed wings of a now extinct sapphire beetle. The clothing the man is painted wearing are contemporary to the time of the painting, yet made to look as old as two decades prior to the year the piece was created. Patched with pieces of red cabbage -’ Vetinari held up a hand at Vimes confused expression. ‘Cabbage here meaning off cuts of fabric – which they themselves hold the faded crest of the future king. The fact that a mere grounds keeper was painted using such rare materials, and shown to be wearing the kings clothes and crest, suggests that perhaps it is not actually a portrait of “just” a grounds keeper, but of the king’s favourite masquerading as a grounds keeper for the sake of propriety. It is a lovely piece I’ve kept in my collection, if you’d ever be interested in taking a look.’ 

Sam blinked, her brain processing the rapid fire information, ‘You mean they were lovers? You can tell all that from a painting?’ 

‘Sometimes,’ Vetinari shrugged. ‘It can be a reassuring thought, seeing something somewhat like yourself peering back at you through history.’ 

‘In a painting?’ 

‘Yes, dear, in a painting,’ Vetinari sighed with a small smile. She tapped the table. ‘Your tea is getting cold.’


	2. To Betty or not To Betty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred is worried about the Corporal, and has a wee chat with Sam who gives him a STERN talking to
> 
> (Warnings for discussion on past homophobia/transphobia)

The floorboards creaked outside Vimes’ office. ‘Come in, Fred,’ She said, setting papers aside. 

‘I never know how you do it,’ Fred Colon said, taking off his hat. ‘I really don’t! You always know it’s me.’ 

‘What can I do for you, sergeant?’ Sam leaned back in her chair with a smile. He might be an old dinosaur, but Fred was reliable, lucky, and had been with Sam since the beginning. It was safe to say she held a place for him, not exactly in her heart, more alongside it, or slightly near her kidneys, but he was there. Steady old Fred. 

‘Well, Mister Vimes, it’s about our Nobby,’ Fred sat down, shaking his head. ‘I’m worried about the lad.’ 

“Lad” would not be how Vimes would describe Nobby Nobs, who was a person (?) of indeterminable age and carried a letter form the Patrician herself stating that apparently he was, against all evidence, human. 

‘He’s started saying some things, that I’m really not sure about. Now I know, the watch is growing, and we get all kinds now. It’s not like how it was when we were first started. But the lad...well...He’s started asking to be called Betty!’ 

Sam blinked. Then carefully placed her hands on the desk. ‘And?’ 

‘And? And! Mister Vimes! It’s Nobby! We’ve known him since he was a wee urchin. Now, I remember something happening like this back in Klatch but -’ 

Sam held up a hand, ‘Fred. You were already in the watch when I joined. I was 16, remember?’ 

‘Like it was yesterday!’ 

‘Good. So you’ll also remember setting my arm after it was broken by two of the other lance-constables, yes?’ 

Fred shifted in his seat, avoiding her eyes and tutting, ‘Bad business...’ 

‘We’ve come a long way together, Fred, but you know I lied about being a boy to join.’ 

‘That’s different, Sam. A gal becoming a lad, well, that’s one thing, but a lad-’ He stopped at the flash in Vimes’ eyes. 

‘Be careful where you tread, Fred, for both our sake. “Lads” are not the default and dwarves do not hold a monopoly for interesting gender presentation. Now I don’t care who Betty or Nobby chooses to be so long as they’re in uniform and do the job. Get them magnetic name tags and they can damn well chose on the daily which person they are, as long as they do. The. Job.’ Sam paused and sighed, reaching over the pat Fred’s hand. ‘Look, like you said, this watch isn’t anything like how it was when we joined. Lance-constables don’t get their arms broken by fellow watchmen for being out of the ordinary, or dragged to the Particulars for wearing the “wrong” clothes. It may have started with trolls or dwarves, but we’re diversifying in every direction, Fred. That’s a good thing.’ 

They sat in silence for a long time, Fred’s red cheeks burning. Slowly, Colon turned this around in his head, carefully picking his words, ‘She does seem a lot happier, Sam...’ 

‘That’s all we can all hope for, Fred.’


	3. Dog Botherer and friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Havelock Vetinari and Sybil Ramkin are 16 and hiding from a party.

It was the biggest social event of the guild's calender. With the students all being sons of lords it was important for them to be seen in society, especially when some of the daughters of lords were newly minted and debuted. It was prime match making season. And Havelock was in the library. She sat cross legged in a plush armchair, a drink in one hand, large tome resting in the fold of her legs. The only sound was the party down the hall, and the turning of pages. That was, until the library door crashed open. 

'I told you he'd be here!' Downey's voice boomed. 'Dog-botherer being all Jimmy-no-mates.' His chest puffed up as his lackies laughed obediently. 

Havelock sighed, taking a sip of her drink. With the help of her aunt she had been able to enter the guild as a boy – luckily she wasn't vain otherwise she'd have been annoyed all it had taken was cutting off her hair and adopting a shoulder based swagger. Men were easy to mimic, they were not as complicated as they thought they were. The one aspect of men she couldn’t bring herself to imitate was that ‘bigness’ they demanded from the world. Big and loud. They had to take up big spaces, announce it with their big voices. Have bigger gangs, bigger wallets. The biggest men at the top, with everyone else scurrying about their stupid big feet - 

‘Hey! Are you listening to me, Dog Botherer?’ Downey snorted with a mean little grin. 

‘No, Downey, why would I ever listen to you?’ Havelock snapped the book shut just as Downey smacked the glass in her hand. The last of her drink splashed down her front, splotches on her cheek. 

‘You better start, you scag, I’m going to be a big man around here. And what will you be? Someone who looks at pretty little pictures and sits all alone -!’ Downey jumped back. Havelock was on her feet in an instant, ice blue eyes burning. His flunkies chittered between themselves, thirsty for a fight. And Havelock may just give them one.

‘What’s going on here?’ 

The voice commanded attention and belonged to a tall, plump young lady in a shimmering gown. Havelock stepped back and bowed to her. The girl didn't curtsey in response. She oozed self confidence. Vetinari found herself to be utterly unbalanced, cheeks reddening. 

'You're being very loud. This is a library, you know,' the girl look from Downey, to Havelock and the other boys. They all shuffled, deeply interested in their feet hoping desperately not to get yelled at by the pretty girl. She was beautiful. Havelock was acutely aware of the wine split on her shirt, and a stray lock of hair flopped in front of her eyes. This girl acted like she owned the place. 

Downey bowed, 'Lady Ramkin, a pleasure to see you again.' 

Oh, Vetinari thought, she does own the place. Shit. 

‘Is it?’ She kept looking at Havelock, brow raised, studying her. Vetinari matched her gaze, keeping her face blank. 

‘Of course, my lady, I was hoping to have the honour of dancing with you this evening,’ Downey said. 

The young lady gave him a quick glance, ‘Hope all you like, it won’t happen.’ Lady Ramkin turned back to Havelock, ‘You, however, may dance with me, should you wish to.’ 

‘I would be honoured,’ Vetinari bowed again. ‘Unfortunately, I am in need of a shirt change-’ 

‘I’ll come with you, then,’ The young lady took her hand and almost dragged her out. Havelock took a split second opportunity to flip Downey off before disappearing around the corner. Lady Ramkin led the way, through she had no clue where they were heading. Havelock got the sense she just wanted to keep moving. 

‘The dorms are up those stairs we just passed,’ Vetinari said. The girl stopped, and Havelock nearly ran into her back. 

Lady Ramkin released her hand and frowned. ‘I’m not actually going to your room, just because I rescued you doesn’t mean you can lead me astray.’ 

‘Astray?’ Havelock titled her head to one side. ‘My Lady I would never – hang on, you didn’t rescue me!’ 

‘Oh, didn’t I?’ 

Vetinari frowned, ‘Maybe to your own understanding of events, but I can assure you miss, I didn’t need your assistance.’ 

‘Don’t be a horses arse! Gods above, men can never accept help from women, can they?’ She folded her arms, leaning against the stone wall. From the party came a cheer, a pop of a cork and music, the sounds echoing around them in the shadows. 

‘Why are you not at the ball?’ Havelock asked. 

‘Why aren’t you?’ She snapped back. 

‘Because I have no interest in eating tiny food with loud people while being constantly scrutinized by who I dance with and who I inevitably, and accidentally, snub. I cannot bear being forcibly paired up like I’m some doll!’ Havelock sucked in a breath.

‘Oh. Same.’ Lady Ramkin smiled then. Havelock felt her knees weaken. She had the kind of smile that lit up the world and Vetinari very suddenly understood why she disliked boys so much. Girls were far more pleasing. 

‘I’m Sybil, by the way. Sybil Ramkin.’ 

‘Havelock Vetinari, your Ladyship.’ 

‘Vet – oh, that’s why he called you...What a prick!’ Sybil laughed. Havelock snorted, shaking her head, ‘Honestly, I’m surprised that’s all he came up with.’ 

Sybil took a step forward. Havelock stepped back, hitting the wall. Her cheeks flushed again. 

‘You’re quite handsome,’ Sybil said, brows furrowed as she studied Vetinari. ‘In a blushy kind of way. You’ve got that floppy haired, non threatening thing going on for you. Very fashionable.’ 

Havelock didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much she could say without either giving herself away for not being a boy, or giving herself away for being very interested in getting much closer to this young lady. Possibly without clothes on, which was a new sensation for her. Being surrounded by boys did not inflame her passions, and it wasn’t common practice for the young men to be inflamed by each other – well, except for Duckworth Wilde and his companions, but they were head of the year and untouchable. Havelock did not have that privilege. The torment she’d get if she had been caught being interested in boys would be worse than silly names. Downey would have a field day. She had been lucky that her disinterest in men, while (wrongly) considered strange for a young lady, worked in her favour in the guild. Except for now. Because here was the daughter from the richest, and maddest, man in the entire city, standing so close Havelock could smell her perfume and count her eyelashes. 

‘You look very panicky, for an assassin.’ 

‘You’re very at ease, for someone standing so close to an assassin.’ 

Sybil laughed, ‘I am at ease. What do I have to be scared of? You have your code of conduct, as a guild man. You’re no threat to me,’ She looked down. ‘You do really need to change that shirt.’ 

‘I do. I will. If you’ll excuse me,’ Havelock said, but her Ladyship did not move. 

‘You owe me a dance. And some wine,’ Sybil said with a girlish smirk. ‘I assume you can get more.’ 

‘I can.’ 

‘Then go. Get changed, fetch us some wine, and maybe we’ll dance.’


	4. Shadow Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Vetinari meet at 16, during a hard night

Living in the Shades you either got good at running or fighting. Sam was good at both. Tonight she ran. Mist poured through the dark streets. In the Shades there weren’t any lamps or link boys to light the way. It was every man for himself. 

She kept to the shadows. Her lungs burned, legs aching. She couldn’t hear that beast of a boy following her, but she didn’t stop. The Shades could be a maze to the uninitiated. Twisting alleys, and upturned carts, wood rotting in the rain. Trash littered the streets paved with broken stones. No one came here unless they had to, and no one had to unless they lived here. This was Sam’s home. And she hated it. It stunk, and she never fit in. She didn’t have a gang, and if you didn’t have a gang you were fucked. 

Sam stopped to catch her breath. The alley stunk of piss. She hunkered down between a cluster of barrels and a three legged chair. Somewhere a baby was crying. Drunk men shouted and laughed on their way home from the pub. All sounds of the Shades that Sam knew too well. 

They hadn’t been able to keep up. She’d gotten stronger in her few months in the watch. Going from irregular food to hot porridge and boot tea every night had done wonders for a growing boy. Because to the Watch she was a boy. They didn’t let women join, and even if they did Sam wasn’t certain she’d join as a woman anyway. The other boys were rough. She had seen what those boys did with girls who didn’t wise up fast enough. 

Footsteps to her right. Sam silently tucked her feet under herself, poised to run. A man walked down the alley, looking behind himself. Even from here Sam could see he was a nob. All gilt and shined shoes, he stood out like a sore thumb. Bloody fool. 

A shadow to her left moved. Shadows shouldn’t move. Shadows also shouldn’t turn into thin boys. The man spotted the shadow too late. There wasn’t time for a scuffle. With one quick move the shadow pulled a blade from their cloak, killing the man before he hit the ground. 

You’re a watchman, Sam thought, and you just witnessed a murder – you have to do something. 

Run. 

She pushed herself from the ground, launching herself into the darkness. She didn’t look back but she didn’t have to. As she broke from the alley, the shadow boy was beside her, racing away up a fire escape. Sam didn’t stop to think. She skidded around a corner, ducking under a low clothes line when she saw them. 

The gang was made up of four boys, three she knew from the streets. One she didn’t know by name. But she knew his fists and those angry little eyes. His cruel grin. He had found her again. Sam Vimes hadn’t been fast enough. 

‘Hey, girly,’ the leader smiled. ‘You gave us quite the run around. Well done.’ He started walking towards her, his boys thirsting for blood. Sam’s heart pounded in her chest. Her legs shook form exhaustion. Before she could turn to run again, the boys were on her. 

Thrust against a wall, one boy holding each arm. Sam lashed out, kicking wildly. It was useless. They had her, their dirty fingernails cutting into her skin, pinning her against the wall. 

‘Get your hands off of me! I’ll rip ‘em off and slap you with them!’ She snarled.

The leader watched with a mean half smile, ‘Fuck, I like it when they’re feisty.’ 

‘Let me go!’ Sam snapped, eyes wild. Don’t cry, don’t scream, don’t give them the pleasure of seeing you weak. 

‘No, no, girly, that’s not going to happen,’ The leader chuckled. The last gang member who wasn’t holding her handed him a small slip of a knife. Her stomach dropped. This was it. All she could think about was her ol’ mum. Would mum wonder what happened to her? Would she know? Would anyone find her out here and care? Mum couldn’t afford a funeral, and being found as a girl the watch wouldn’t cover anything, what would happen to her broken body...?

A patch of shadow behind the beastly boy deepened and moved. A gurgle came from his weapon carrier, the boy crumpling. The leader turned, just as a fist collided with his jaw. The hands holding Sam slackened and she pulled free. A swift kick to the groin of one of the boys knocked him down, the shadow taking the other out with a whip-quick slash to the throat. 

A tackle sent Sam flying. She landed hard, winded. Blood dropped onto her face, the leader of the gang pinning her in the dirt. His hand wrapped around her throat, that nasty little knife digging into her gut. Sam clawed at his horrible eyes, tears filling her own as her vision started to blur. 

The shadow wrapped an arm around the leader’s neck, yanking him back. Sam gasped in air. She rolled onto her side, hands clasped to her stomach. The scuffle behind her was messy, she could hear the hits of loose punches, muffled swearing. And then the loosing of a cross brow and the thud of a body against the wall. 

Arms pulled her up. 

‘We have to go,’ The voice was soft, elegant. The shadow boy half dragged her down the alleys. Was this what death was like? She wondered, because there was no way she was going to see the sunrise. 

They ended up down by the river, under a bridge. The shadow gently lay Sam back on a pile of sacks and started lifting up her shirt. She kicked out, the boy barely dodging. 

‘Don’t think for a second you’ll get to touch me,’ she spat. 

The shadow sat back on his haunches, hands raised. In the faint light of a nearby street lamp Sam could see the boy was wearing clothes a deep deep blue, with paint over his face. His hands shook ever so slightly. 

He bowed his head, ‘I beg your pardon, miss, I’m not...this isn’t...You’re bleeding. I have a kit. Bandages.’ 

‘I’m not a miss,’ Sam swirled spit in her mouth, tasting iron. She turned and spat out the blood, running a quivering hand through her short hair, ‘No man will touch me.’ 

The shadow and she locked eyes. Slowly, he nodded, reaching into his cloak. She flinched. The boy pulled out a small canvas pouch. With clear and deliberate movements he placed it on the ground, and knocked it over to her. 

‘I understand. Please, you need to get something on that wound. There’s salt water to clean it, and a pad to stick over. I won’t come near you, unless you ask me to,’ He added. 

Sam grabbed the pouch, pulling it open. Sure enough there was a small vial of water and a collection of first aid equipment. With shaking hands, she dealt with her wound. It wasn’t as bad as she had thought. It was a gash, but not too deep. The salt water still stung like a bitch. Hissing through her teeth, she got the pad onto herself.

The boy wiped the paint off his face, revealing high cheekbones. He was thin faced, and his hair was cut short and slicked back. 

‘I need an extra hand. Hold the pad while I wrap the bandage,’ Sam said. He looked over to her with sharp ice blue eyes, face emotionless. 

Like a man approaching a wild animal, he carefully picked his way over to her. The boy got close enough to hold the pad, but still kept himself at arms length. Sam avoided those intense eyes as she wrapped the bandage around herself. They bore into her like fire. 

‘Thank you.’ The words escaped her before she could stop them. Tears started to well again. Sam shifted back on the sacks, away from his hand. She hid her face in the crook of her elbow. 

‘You don’t need to thank me,’ The boy said, his voice so soft Sam had to strain to hear. 

‘I saw you. Kill that nob,’ Sam kneaded her eye with the heel of her palm. ‘You an assassin?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘Aren’t you supposed to not kill people who aint your targets?’ 

The boy shrugged one shoulder, ‘Perhaps. But if it rids the city of such men, then I’m willing to get the black mark for it. If anyone notices.’ 

‘No one would have found me,’ Sam said, eyes wide. ‘No one. They’d have gutted me by the end and no one would have known.’ 

‘But that didn’t happen,’ He leaned in a little, eyes on hers. ‘Remember that. You still live.’ 

A carriage clattered over the bridge above them. The edge of sky was beginning to lighten. Sam had seen sunrise. 

‘You don’t even know me,’ Sam said once the sound died away. 

Again, the boy just shrugged, ‘I don’t need to. I do not need to know you to know that whatever those sons of bitches had planned you didn’t deserve. No one deserves that.’ 

The city was waking. The muffled sounds of thousands of people getting ready to get by filled the world. 

‘Mum’s gonna be waking up soon. I...gotta get going,’ Sam bit her lip, hugging herself tight. ‘I make her breakfast before she goes to work.’ She tossed the canvass bag back to the boy, who caught it easily. 

‘Then you best be off. And I pray one day we meet again under better circumstances,’ He stood and bowed. Bowed! To her! 

Sam stood in front of him, so she was eye level to his throat. She looked up at him, and smirked, ‘Where would we ever see each other again? You’re a nob. Only nobs can be assassins. You’re a lord and I’m no one.’ 

‘Everyone is someone, no one is nobody. You would have been missed. You would have been found. And I,’ he gave a small tilt of his head. ‘Will see you around...?’ 

‘Sam.’ 

The shadow boy smiled, turning away from her, ‘I will see you again, Sam.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have an idea you'd like to see explored, let me know! I really love writing these :)


	5. Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first kiss between a charming dictator and a hopeless fool.

Vimes was boiling. The sun beat down making the streets hazy and her armour scorching to the touch. The soles of her sandals near melting on the cobblestones. The skin on her arms and back of her neck was tender, and a nasty red. Trolls sat like islands in the middle of the streets, the heat cooking their brains to a standstill. All the watch did was put little cones and ribbon tape around them, cordoning off the trolls form the general public. When the sun went down, captain Carrot was to go around with a team of men and dump cold water over the poor things and help them get home. 

It was 12 pm and Vimes was heading home herself. Sweat dripped down her neck, her leather cap barely keeping the sun off. Walking was hard, each step laborious and her throat was as dry as the devil’s backside. She blinked sweat from her eyes, trudging up the street to the manor. 

Vimes hurried upstairs as fast as her lead heavy legs could propel her. Bathing was a mission. Sam’s binder was stifling, drenched and had to be wrestled off. She knew she’d worn it too long, her chest muscles ached something wicked and breathing was getting tricky, but going on patrol without it felt worse than any discomfort. 

Cold water made her sunburned skin radiate painfully. From Sybil’s cupboard she found some burn cream, the overpowering smell of peppermint filling the room. It soothed in a so-cold-it-stings way, but it helped. 

Sam set her armour aside in a tidy pile, changing into a loose linen shirt and knee-breeches. No shoes, she was done with shoes for the day. She trotted downstairs, ruffling her hands through her still wet hair. 

Vimes walked into the sitting room. Then stopped dead in her tracks. Sybil was there, obviously, tea cup in hand. And opposite her was the Patrician. Sam’s throat dried up even further. Havelock Vetinari in her near infinite composure could not hide that the heat was affecting her. Sweat made her skin glisten, strands of pitch black hair stuck to her neck. Sam clenched her fists, biting the inside of her cheek. 

Sybil had, only a week ago, asked Vimes a question. About Vetinari. And because it was Sybil who asked, Sam did not lie. Sybil had not been surprised, in fact she was happy, and Sam felt a certain weight lift from her. But now it came crashing back. This was a set up. 

‘Oh jolly good, you’re here Sam!’ Sybil beamed brightly. She was far too crafty, Sam thought, and has me wound around her beautiful little finger. 

‘Hello dear,’ Sam said weakly. Her ears burned when Vetinari’s cold eyes looked her up and down. Sam longed for her armour. A nice thick piece of metal to protect her from those eyes. Her shirt was already sticking to her body. 

‘Come, come, sit down and join us,’ Sybil said. ‘We’re having a lovely chat.’ 

‘Yes, dear,’ Sam shuffled to sit in the only chair available. Between the two women. There was a fourth chair, but a swamp dragon slept there and the creatures were extra twitchy and prone to explosions in the heat. 

Vimes drank water with little ice cubes that had pieces of lemon in them. She watched the beads of condensation race down the side of the glass and did not in anyway notice a bead of sweat run down Havelock’s throat, and down past the collar of her shirt. Sam did not pay any attention when Vetinari pulled out a delicate black lace fan and gently begin fanning herself. 

Sybil caught Sam’s eye and smiled sweetly, ‘Oh would you look at the time. I better get wee Snuggle-puff here back to the pens. She gets mightily peevish if she misses lunch. Come now!’ She gently tapped the dragon on the nose. Sam and Havelock both gripped the table, poised to dive away. 

Snuggle-puff blinked open her eyes, yawned and hopped lazily down off the chair. 

‘Who’s a good girl, then?’ Sybil cooed. She smiled to Sam and Vetinari. ‘Well, tatty bye dears, enjoy your tea.’ Snuggle-puff waddled out after Sybil. The door closed with a click.

The room was silent. Sam drank her water as a way to occupy herself. She did not want to be the first to speak. Had Sybil told Havelock about...? Sam’s hands sweated. This was like being a teen again, and Suzie Merryweather had asked to meet her in the back alley after supper. Vimes was too old to be feeling like she was going to ask the Patrician for a fling behind Hammerrock’s pub and rat grill! 

She looked up. Havelock was watching her over steepled fingers. The corners of her eyes crinkled. Vetinari had this way of smiling only with her eyes. It was charming, if you weren’t terrified of the viper tongue she had. When Vetinari smiled at you, you prayed you were in on the joke. 

Sam didn’t think she was. 

‘How was your shift, Commander?’ Vetinari asked. 

‘Fine, sir.’ Sam made her face wooden. Her shoulders slumped, chest slightly caved in. Her leg jiggled. 

‘I hear the trolls are struggling in the heat?’ 

‘Yes, sir. But Carrot is looking after them, and we’ve got some of the day lads working to divert traffic.’ 

‘Capital! You have it all under control, then?’ 

‘As much as we ever do, sir.’ 

Havelock chuckled at that. A flurry of butterflies erupted in Sam’s stomach. Vetinari tilted her head to one side, like someone examining a painting, ‘I do believe,’ She said. ‘That you probably don’t need to call me sir when off duty, and within your own home.’

‘Don’t I, sir?’ 

Vetinari gave her a pitying look, ‘Unless you prefer it. I’m sure we could come up with some other things to call each other.’ She smirked. Sam blushed, brows pulled in a frown. Vimes felt like a man treading water who can see some dark toothy shapes circling him in the depths. 

‘What...would you call me, then?’ Sam said in a small voice. She gripped her cold glass like a life raft, watching the lemon debris bob around. 

Vetinari shifted closer. Her long leg bumped against Sam’s, their knees touching. Both knees. All four knees? Touching. With a furtive glance down, Sam saw that she had placed her feet on either side of Sam’s own. A trap. Sam was bloody trapped.  
Vetinari leaned forward, elbows on her thighs, her hands clasped together as she gazed into Sam’s eyes. 

‘Have I told you, Vimes, how impressed I am with your character?’ 

Sam shook her head. 

Vetinari narrowed her eyes, ‘Well, I am. I admire you. You are a fascinating study.’ 

‘And...you’ve been studying me?’ 

‘For a while now, yes,’ Vetinari’s brow twigged upwards a fraction. 

‘What have you learned, then, in your...studying?’ Was this flirting? Sam’s heart rattled against her ribs. Flirting with Sybil had been easier – not at the start, but it was easier. Sybil was so forthright that really, flirting sometimes just got in the way. Sam could go up to Sybil, pat her backside and say “How’s about it then, kid?” and away they go. She never felt as unbalanced as this. Vetinari wove mazes out of words. 

Vimes noticed the softest pink tinge to Vetinari’s cheeks. Havelock averted her eyes for a split second, ‘That you’re brave. Honest, in a kind of pigheaded way,’ she laughed. ‘That you have made my dearest friend happier than I have ever known her to be. And that you’re quite...handsome.’ 

Sam blinked. She chewed her lips. Havelock’s eyes flittered down to watch the movement. She tapped Vimes on the thigh with her fan, ‘Do forgive me if I am being too forward, but I fear we’ll dance around this all day if I’m not. May I kiss you?’ 

Sam kissed her. It was important to note that Sam Vimes kissed Her. Vetinari made a small surprised sound as Sam leaned forward. It was like being struck by lightning. As Sam’s bruised from being chewed lips met Vetinari’s, she felt the world fall away. Long fingered hands reached into her hair, held her neck, touched her collarbone. Sam held onto the collar of Vetinari’s shirt, bunching the material in her hands. It was thin, soft. Slightly wet from her sweat. 

Being the shorter one, Sam leaned in more. A small part of her mind wondered if this was on purpose, that Vetinari was making her reach further. The fizzing under her skin chased those thoughts away. 

The kiss broke. Sam opened her eyes to see Vetinari watching her. Neither of them moved. Sam braced her hands on Vetinari’s knees, and in turn the Patrician had one hand on Sam’s neck, the other resting lightly on her shoulder. 

‘Um,’ Said Sam. Not the best opening line, but her brain was having trouble producing any other thoughts than “girl? Hot. Go again?” 

‘Indeed,’ said Vetinari. Then she giggled. It was almost...girlish. Sam was struck by how odd a sound it was to come from such a formidable woman. Havelock bit her lip, wrinkling her nose with a little grin. Sam snorted, then laughed. She fell back onto her chair, slouching, hand raised to cover her mouth as she laughed. 

When they grew silent once more, Havelock sat up straight, their knees still touching. Vetinari ran her hand through her short black hair and Sam noticed the slightest flecks of silver. Then Havelock trapped her once more. She shifted in her seat, and crossed her ankles behind Sam’s. She then leaned forward, hands on the arms of Sam’s chair and smirked, ‘Well then, do you have any thoughts on this development?’ 

‘You have long legs,’ Sam said. 

‘That is...Really? Okay,’ Havelock raised a brow, chuckling. ‘I meant the kiss.’ 

‘Oh. Yes. I have thoughts.’ 

Havelock sighed, ‘You’re really making me work both sides of this, you know.’ 

Sam sighed, ‘Right. Yeah, sorry. I do have thoughts. Mostly that I’d like to do that again. Repeatedly. Maybe never stop, actually, but we both have jobs to get to.’ 

The patrician opened her mouth to speak. Then closed it. She grinned, ‘You are a simple man, aren’t you?’ 

Tension Sam didn’t know she was holding ebbed out of her. Her shoulders relaxed, the knots in her stomach eased off,‘You said I was honest. Honesty is...something we should have right now.’ 

‘I agree.’ 

Sam nodded, ‘Okay. So, Sybil and I had a talk, last week. About you. Because I have some...feelings, towards you.’ 

‘I noticed. Sybil and I also had a talk. Three months ago, about you. It’s nice to see we’re all in agreement,’ Havelock said smoothly. Her hand was still on Sam’s neck, and the touch sent constant little shivers through the Commander. 

‘We are – hang on, three months ago?’ Sam frowned. ‘Three bloody months ago? Why didn’t anyone say something sooner?’ 

‘We didn’t want to rush you. You seemed to be taking some time to work things out for yourself. It wasn’t really our place, was it?’ 

‘Yes, yes, but I couldn’t have had you...we could have...This could have happened earlier!’ 

Havelock chuckled, ‘But it has happened now.’ 

Sam sighed. She reached up to cup Havelock’s cheek, stroking her thumb tentatively over her cheekbone, ‘It has.’ 

And then lightning struck for a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read! If you have a scene request let me know!


	6. Do you want a bickie?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deeply self indulgent chapter as I, myself, deal with everything south of my ribs being on fire lol

Vetinari jiggled her leg under the desk, sending little vibrations through the wood. Water in her glass rippled. She leaned on her elbows, head placed on one hand, the fingers of the other aggressively drumming. She bit her lip. Breathe in, she told herself, it’ll pass. 

Her stomach knotted again. Havelock hissed through gritted teeth, placing a hand on her abdomen. Vetinari’s cycle was erratic, to say the least. Odd hours, constant stress and little food meant her body didn’t often bother with this needless bleeding. It was as if her uterus had never gotten the message that no man capable of impregnating her was going to emerge from the woodwork. However, every few months the beast awoke.

There was little she could do for the pain. Havelock had tried everything. From chewing medicinal roots, to laying on the floor with a dragon boiling itself on her stomach, nothing seemed to help. What infuriated her the most was that she didn’t usually mind pain. She had been an assassin, for goodness sake! She’d been shot, stabbed, poisoned. If it was small, metal and pointy there was a chance at some point in her life she’d been poked with it. Havelock hated how inescapable this pain was. Being shot was one thing, that came from someone else. This was all her.

Havelock was miserable and annoyed. At the world at large, but mostly herself as self pity seeped in. That was not a feeling she allowed herself to have. The problem was everything south of her ribs didn’t know what it wanted other than to be on fire.

Another sharp knot made her lean further forward, resting her forehead to the desk. She wrapped her arms around her middle, swearing softly. 

Strong hands held her shoulders, ‘Hey, you alright?’ 

Vetinari looked up into the tired face of Sam Vimes – who had a black eye. 

‘Are you?’ Havelock sighed, sitting up in her chair. She rubbed her forehead with a frown. 

Sam shrugged, ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Bastard who did this,’ she gestured at lazily at her face, ‘However, is not. Detritus got to him before Carrot.’ 

‘Oh...’ 

‘Igor is patching him up a we speak. Now what’s up with you? Your man told me we had an appointment,’ Sam leaned her hip against the side of Vetinari’s desk, one hand in her breeches pocket, the other idly toying with the cuff of Havelock’s sleeve. 

Havelock watched her fingers for a moment. Then gasped softly, ‘Oh shit, we were going to have a walk in the gardens.’ She groaned, rubbing her eyes.

‘Hey, it’s fine. I’ve stood you up more than a few times before, lets call it even,’ Sam chuckled, watching her carefully. ‘You’re awfully pale.’ 

‘My cycle has reared its horrible little head again,’ Havelock slumped in her chair. ‘Nothing to worry about.’ 

Sam blushed, looking awkwardly at her feet, ‘Come on, lets get you laying down.’ 

Vetinari allowed Vimes to lead her out of the office and into her simple bedroom. At Sam’s instructions she took off her top layer of robes, revealing loose fitted trousers and - 

‘Your singlets white,’ Sam took a step back. 

Vetinari frowned, and modestly covered her front with her arms, ‘So what?’ 

‘It’s not black.’ 

‘Well done, you don’t need glasses, yet,’ Vetinari said. ‘I am allowed to wear something other than black, you know.’ 

‘Well, yeah. But....white? I’d have thought maybe...burgundy. Some kind of red?’ Sam’s face was all puzzlement. 

Vetinari sighed, climbing onto her bed, arms folded under her cheek, ‘I’ll keep that in mind, dear. How do you want me?’ Her stomach and back were burning again, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from swearing. Sam lifted the back of her singlet up, running her hands over the small of Vetinari’s back. The bed shifted as Vimes knelt on one knee, her thumbs finding the pressure points in her lower back. 

‘You’re going to need to tell me if the pressure is okay,’ Sam said. ‘I do this for Sybil, but she has more padding than you do.’ 

‘This is perfect,’ Havelock whispered. She made a small sound as those strong hands worked wonders. The pain eased off, becoming more of a dull ache than a sharp burning. Vetinari melted, the stiffness in her body easing away. Eyes closing, she reached an arm back, and gave Sam’s knee a squeeze. 

‘Thank you,’ She whispered, then shivered as Sam leaned forward, pressing a kiss right behind her ear. 

‘I’ve got you,’ Vimes said softly, easing her hands away. ‘How long was our appointment supposed to be?’ 

‘...you were scheduled for forty minutes. I had intended us to take lunch in the garden,’ Havelock whispered. 

‘Then I say we have maybe fifteen to twenty minutes left,’ Sam whispered. Vetinari went to sit up, but Sam gently pushed her back down. The commander clambered over her, and awkwardly settled down between Vetinari and the wall. Havelock rolled onto her side, pressing her back against Sam’s chest. She curled her knees up, Sam’s arm holding her around the middle. 

‘How do you cope with this?’ Vetinari asked after a moment. ‘I’ve never heard you complain.’ 

‘I try not to think about it, really,’ Sam said. ‘Luckily it, uh...never lasts more than a few days.’ 

Vetinari grunted, ‘And I am envious of that.’ 

‘Yeah, Sybil gets it way worse than I ever have. Poor dear. Hey,’ She stroked a hand through Havelock’s hair. ‘Do you want a bickie? Something chocolatey always helps.’ 

Havelock bit back a smile and closed her eyes once more. She placed a hand on Sam’s arm, ‘No. I don’t need a bickie right now. You’re more than enough.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read! Let me know in the comments if there is a scene you'd like to read, these are fun and I'd love to take requests :)


	7. Stolen moment at midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Sybil and Vetinari make a change to their relationship.

Sybil Ramkin was in her bedroom, robe pulled tight. A small lantern sat in the centre of her window, flickering. She chewed her lip with a grin. To distract herself Sybil fussed with the plate of pastries on the bedside table. She twirled a strand of hair around a finger, bobbing nervously on the end of her bed. This bedroom had belonged to generations of Ramkins before her, the large velvet canopy sagged a little with age and the walls were covered in pictures of her ancestors and their holdings. Little watercolours of dragons were taped up above the bed. 

Down in the depths of the manor the huge grandfather clock chimed midnight. Sybil counted each echoing ring, her stomach tightening. As the last chime faded she hurriedly blew out the lamp. Assassins must never stand in the light. There came a rhythmic tapping on her window. She leapt to her feet and unlatched it, stepping back. 

A hooded figure eased themself into the room. Willowy and landing soundlessly on the carpet, the figure closed the window behind them. Dressed in shades of deep blue and black, like water at midnight. They had a long cape about their shoulders, hands gloved, with a leather satchel bumping against their hip. They bowed. 

Sybil giggled, ‘You look very dashing.’ 

Vetinari pulled back her hood with a smile. Her face was covered in paint, waves of blue and black that matched her clothing. 

‘And you are as radiant as always, your ladyship,’ She said, slowly removing her gloves. She removed her cape with a slight flourish, draping it over the back of a chair. She then nodded to the bathroom, ‘Shall I remove the paint, or do you prefer it?’ 

Sybil snickered, ‘Please, remove it. The last thing I need is blue paint in questionable areas. How would I ever begin to explain that, again?’ 

When Vetinari excused herself to the bathroom, Lady Ramkin quickly pulled the curtains, hiding them from any prying eyes. One couldn’t be too careful. She took off her robe, and wriggled the neckline of her soft pink nightgown lower. She quickly fluffed her short chestnut hair, and pinched her cheeks, hoping for a pleasing blush. She lit one candle, setting it on the dresser. 

Havelock made quick work of the paint, returning as she dried off her face. Sybil placed her hands on either side of her jaw, turning Havelock’s head one way, then the other. She examined that pale, aquiline face, tracing her fingertips over her high cheekbones, and strong brow. If Sybil didn’t have the fortitude of centuries of Ramkin breeding she might have felt self-conscious about their size difference. People who thought they were being polite called her big boned. Her bones weren’t any bigger than average. She was simply fat, and fine with that, thank you very much. 

‘You’ve got some new scars,’ Sybil frowned. One such scar was small and touched the edge of Havelock’s mouth. She leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to it. Sybil felt her friend melt against her. Vetinari wrapped her arms around Sybil’s waist, pulling her close. 

‘Dangers of the job, my dear,’ Havelock whispered. 

‘Your job has been taking up a lot of your time recently,’ Sybil said with a questioning look. Vetinari simply smiled in that way of hers. They stood like that for a moment, and it dawned on Sybil that she hadn’t been the only one missing their closeness. She was well aware that Havelock had big plans. She had the kind of mind that schemed even when asleep. Havelock was filled to the brim with an odd kind of ambition. 

‘I am sorry for not visiting sooner,’ Havelock whispered with a forlorn sigh. ‘I should have written more, perhaps.’ 

‘You should have. And you will going forward, which is all that matters now,’ Sybil ran her hands down Vetinari’s chest, feeling the leather straps and hidden dangers that make up the assassin’s uniform. Sybil took her hand and steered her to the bed. ‘Sit. Have a pastry.’ 

Vetinari, future tyrant of Ankh-Morepork did as she was told. She sat and picked up a delicate puff of pastry, nibbling in contemplative silence. Sybil entertained herself by running a hand through her friend’s short hair. Everyone thought that Vetinari was a man, her progression in the guild hadn’t really allowed for the truth to come out yet. She made a handsome, if delicate featured, man. Sybil wondered what she might look like with long hair, or fancy dresses. There was a time, she knew, where that had been Havelock. A young girl who lived with her aunt in Genua, with long black hair and darkly intelligent eyes. Sybil had a hard time picturing her wearing anything other than her assassin black. 

‘I love you,’ Havelock blurted out. Her cheeks pinked softly, and she turned the pastry over in her hands. 

‘I know dear, I love you too,’ Sybil watched her carefully. She placed a hand on Havelock’s forearm. The hottest part of a flame is blue, and Sybil saw that heat in her best friend’s eyes. 

‘I graduate soon,’ Vetinari continued. ‘And I’ll be going on my Grand Sneer afterwards.’ 

‘Ah,’ Sybil sighed. ‘So you’ll be away for a while then.’ 

‘At least a year, I think. Maybe longer.’ 

Sybil took her hands away from Havelock, and held them in her lap, ‘I’ll miss you.’ 

‘Yes...I’ll miss you too. Which is why, I think...it’d be best I do go away, and we both take some time for ourselves. Apart -’ 

‘It would be hard to take time for ourselves together, if you’re off in other countries,’ Sybil said. 

‘Right. And moving forward, I may need to not be...tied down, as it were -’ 

‘Havelock -insert middle name here because I just realised you’ve never mentioned it- Vetinari! Are you trying to break up with me by also telling me you love me? Because you better have a damned good reason for all this!’ Sybil folded her arms tight over her chest and bit her lip to keep from crying. 

‘Ye gods, I’m ballsing this up,’ Havelock sighed. ‘Sybil. If something were to happen to you because of our relationship I would never forgive myself.’ 

‘And what makes you think something might happen?’ 

‘Did you know people think we’re going to get married?’ Havelock asked. ‘Everyone talks about it. My damn aunt wrote to me asking about it.’ Vetinari ran an angry hand through her hair, folding her arms on her knees. 

‘Well now...’ Sybil blushed. ‘What do you think about it?’ 

‘I think that if I were a man I would have married you in a heart beat,’ She said. Sybil heard the pain in her voice, the smallest crack of a breaking heart.

‘But you’re not a man.’ 

‘No. I’m not,’ Havelock wrung her hands, glaring at a spot on the wall. ‘And the city in it’s current state would not accept that kind of thing.’ 

‘And you can’t hide who you are forever, I know,’ Sybil said with a sigh. Vetinari looked away, shoulders sagging with an angry little growl. 

Sybil lay her head on her shoulder, ‘Look here, I love you. But I also don’t make any claims on you. You are free to do what you like. All I ask is that you keep me in the loop-’ she held up a hand when Havelock went to speak, ‘- As much as you’re able. You will always have my support. I’m tougher than you’re giving me credit for,’ Sybil hitched the neckline of her nightgown higher. ‘And if you want to...to end things right now, then fine. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.’ She had almost kept the tears back. Almost. Sybil stood, arms around herself, and began pacing the floor. Her crying was silent, and that cut through Havelock’s heart more than anything. 

‘I’m not doing this to be cruel,’ Vetinari said, kneading her eyes with the heel of her palms. ‘I truly do love you. And that’s...a liability right now. Maybe one day in the future-’ 

‘I am not a back up wife!’ Sybil snapped. Tears had turned to anger, and she shook. ‘Either you take me now, or leave me, but I can’t stay in limbo until you decide it’s the right time. You can’t ask me to do that.’ 

Cold silence fell. Havelock stared at her feet, the back of one hand covering her mouth. 

‘Fine,’ She said after a moment. ‘You’re right. I can’t.’ Havelock stood, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, ‘Could I... Still write to you?’ 

‘I can’t stop you.’ 

‘But would you answer if I did?’ 

Sybil nodded, a sob escaping her. All she wanted was Vetinari’s arms around her, yet at the same time she wanted shake her till her brain leaked out her ears. This was not what she wanted. Her heart shattered, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t hold back, Sybil let herself sob. She wasn’t going to hide her pain for Havelock’s sake. Let her see the pain she caused. 

Vetinari pulled her cloak back on, fastening it at her throat. She lightly touched Sybil’s arm, her own eyes shining with tears, ‘I will always be there for you. If you ever need anything from me, Sybil -’ 

‘There’s nothing I want that you can give,’ Sybil stepped back. She turned away from her friend, and shivered in the cold blast of air as Havelock disappeared into the night, leaving Sybil alone.


	8. Part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absolute silly fluffffffffff part 1 of 2

Sam Vimes was under house arrest – heavily enforced by one Lady Sybil Vimes (Nee Ramkin). The charge? Being a bloody fool who thought jumping off a balcony onto the roof of a speeding carriage then jumping from the carriage roof to a cobble stoned street WOULDN’T cause her to snap her ankle.

Sybil scrapped muck off her boots. She hung the heavy leather armour up on hooks by the back door. She’d had a busy day with the new cavern girls. Her back ached from lifting buckets of coal. What Sybil wanted was a nice long hot bath – but first she had to check on her prisoner. 

She padded through the house on silent bare feet, making the decision not to notice Willikins and Purity whispering in the library. Before she reached the landing, Sybil heard laughter. She crept forward, poking her head around the door. She beamed. Her son lay on his back, holding his feet high in the air, his uproarious laughter filling the world with light. Sam lay on the bed with him. Her broken leg, heavy with a cast, lay awkwardly behind her. Sam was radiant, grinning stupidly and snorting with laughter. Sybil’s heart fluttered at the sight. 

Not that she ever truly doubted it, but it was moments like this that proved she had made the right decision in marrying Sam Vimes. So many people had tried to talk her out of it, but deep down she had known. Sam might be rough around the edges, but gods, she tried her best and she loved their son more than anything in the world. She loved Sybil more than she cared about herself. Which was fine, because Sybil loved every fibre of Sam enough for the pair of them. 

Young Sam gasped, flailing his arms, defenceless against an onslaught of kisses. He squealed, Vimes blowing a raspberry on his round belly. Sybil burst out laughing, stepping into the room. 

‘Look at you,’ She cooed, sitting on the edge of the bed. She tickled along her son’s chest, placing a calming hand on him. He giggled up at her, ‘Ma!’ 

Goodness, but he was perfect. A bundle of chubby arms and legs, full of big grins and endless joy. Sybil scooped him up, holding the toddler to her chest. She kissed his hair, eyes closed, breathing him in. Thankfully it seemed he had been bathed recently, he had a whiff of lavender about him. 

‘What have my darlings been up too?’ She asked, nuzzling her nose to her son’s. 

‘We sat in the garden for a bit, didn’t we Sam?’ Vimes said, rolling over so she lay on her back. ‘Then who came to visit us?’ 

‘Detus!’ Young Sam beamed. 

‘That’s right, Detritus came by with Angua and I read some reports. And did some swearing, but you were playing with Purity then - so he didn’t hear a thing, I swear it, Sybil,’ She added hastily. ‘Then we had a snack and watched Willikins dredge up an assassin who fell in the pond.’ Vimes voice was still in that sing-song people reserved for children, but she and Sybil shared a Look. 

‘Ass-in!’ Young Sam grinned. 

Sybil hummed, ‘I see. And after the excitement?’ 

‘We went to read in the library and instead fell asleep on the sofa,’ Sam yawned. ‘And he chose to wake me up by smacking my nose repeatedly.’ 

‘That’s an awful lot of moving around Sam, Doctor Lawn said you had to keep movements down as much as possible,’ Sybil tutted. 

Sam shrugged one shoulder, ‘I’ve got my crutches! I can hobble along fine enough. And Purity and Willikins weren’t far away –,’ She sighed. ‘Sorry Sybil. But I can’t sit around in one room all day, I’d lose my mind. Besides, little Sam here has gotten really good with going up and down the stairs, haven’t you bubba?’ 

Sybil raised a brow. She fixed her spouse with the universal wifely look of “choose your next words very carefully, buster.” 

Sam wilted, ‘... It wasn’t like we were trying to break any land speed records. The 30 stair one legged hop and bum shuffle isn’t exactly a harrowing sport, love. We can’t stay locked up all day!’ 

‘You think so?’ 

‘I have rights!’ Sam frowned, ‘I should be allowed to move about my own house. Sam’s on my side, aren’t you lad?’ She reached up to take her son’s hand. 

The child looked between his parents, at the offered hand and the softness of his mother. He flopped against Sybil, giggling, ‘Nah!’ 

Sam Vimes, defeated, groaned dramatically, hand over her eyes. Sybil laughed, patting Sam’s arm, ‘Tough luck, darling. Now, get changed, I’m going to have a bath,’ she held Young Sam up, kissing his nose. ‘Because Aunty Havelock is coming for dinner.’


	9. Part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of some silly fluff - Sam has a broken ankle

Young Sam loved his godmother very much. And even though he was at the age where he was excited about meeting anyone, there was something that came over him whenever Aunty “Habba-lob” came round. He was quiet, and watched. He would sit on her knee, little hands on his thighs. Watching. If she turned to look at whatever caught her attention, his eyes would follow. They had long conversations together, and Havelock swore he was extremely helpful with the more tricky crosswords. 

Vimes had horrible visions of one day waking up to find her toddler in all black, with steepled fingers and making acerbic comments about how Vimes was dressed. 

Young Sam right now, however, was rolling on the floor between Havelock’s feet and pulling on her skirt. She scooped him up, pressing a kiss to his nose before angling him towards a chess board. Sam frowned, watching Sybil and Havelock/young Sam play the game with much excitement. She did not like the game, but did feel a puff of pride when Sybil won. And the win was genuine, Sam was certain. Havelock would not throw a game, certainly not against keen eyed Sybil – who had once caught Sam cheating at cards and enacted swift and painful retribution. 

Carrying her godson with one arm, Lord Vetinari came to sit beside Vimes. She eyed her broken leg with a cocked brow, ‘Oh dear. I heard the fall was a nasty one.’ 

Sam drank some tea, ‘Not fun, no. But we caught the bugg-’ She looked at young Sam’s big, beautiful eyes and stopped herself. ‘We caught the miscreant.’ 

‘Well done,’ Havelock said, letting the boy wriggle from her grasp to totter over to his mother. To Vimes’ surprise, Vetinari then leaned over and kissed her cheek, her hand resting lightly over Sam’s. The commander narrowed her eyes playfully, ‘What do you want?’ 

‘What ever do you mean?’ She purred, chin resting on her shoulder. ‘I want for nothing but your speedy recovery-’ 

‘And?’ 

‘-And,’ she sighed, leaning close to whisper into Sam’s ear, ‘You to be a bit more fucking careful.’ 

Vimes chuckled, snaking her arm around Vetinari’s waist. She pulled the woman close, the soft volume of her skirts rustling over both their legs, ‘I’ve made you the same promise as Sybil and young Sam. I do what I can to come home – I just never promise that I’ll have all my bits when I do.’ 

Havelock gave her a small smile, then tucked her head under Sam’s chin, ‘Well then, I’m sure Sybil wont mind me speaking for the both of us when I say: we’re very fond of your bits, and require you to try and keep as many of them attached as possible.’ 

‘Yes sir,’ Sam chuckled, pressing a kiss to her soft hair.


	10. Three sheets to the wind

The wine was flowing - except for Sam, for whom the lemonade was flowing. But Sybil and Havelock sat together on the long sofa by the fire, legs tangled, cheeks red and laughter high. Their half full glasses now abandoned, the women whispered in each other's ears and snorted, giggling at inside jokes. Vimes stood by the fireplace, slowly rotating and warming herself. The day had been long and full of aches, but now tension ebbed from her bones. Warmth from the fire and warmth from her girls eased stress and pushed all other thoughts from her mind. She was home. Her son was upstairs sound asleep, and here, giggling in a heap, were her loves. They were so beautiful. Sam's heart thudded every time she looked at them. Sybil was in a surprisingly impractical gown with layers of diaphanous fabric that somehow pooled in such a way that it took all of Sam's self-control not to stare open mouthed at her curves. Vetinari was, of course, dressed in slick black, but where Sybil's gown was a sweet cloud, Havelock's dress skimmed her body with a plunging neckline. The fabric looked like silk without the sheen, and had a long slit exposing an equally long, pale leg with the faintest of scars. 

Whatever she'd done to be so blessed, Vimes hadn't a singular clue. But she sure as hell wasn't going to take it for granted.

As her fireplace rotation brought her to face the sofa, Vimes had to bite back a grin. Sybil dozed on Havelock's shoulder. The patrician gave Sam a small smile, wrinkling her nose sweetly.

Sam quietly picked her way over. She lay a hand on her wife's shoulder, 'Come on, kid, let's get you upstairs.' The dozing Sybil acquiesced, wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders. She pressed clumsy kisses to Sam's cheek, nuzzling her happily. Vimes blushed, trying to ignore Havelock's snickering.

'Don't you worry, sir, I'll be back for you,' Sam said over her shoulder before leaving the sitting room.

Sybil giggled, failing to whisper, 'Sam! You'll have to kiss her for me, I'm tired.'

'Alright, love,' Sam helped her wife upstairs, ears burning red.

'Kiss her a lot.'

'Yeah, uh...okay?'

'That's an order, Sam!' Sybil smacked Sam's backside, tottering brightly into their bedroom.

Sam snorted, shaking her head, 'Sybil! Come on.'

'Hmm?' She wriggled out of her gown and stays, her head popping up out of a cloud of fabric to blink innocently at her spouse, 'Yes, dear?'

'You're a menace, woman,' Vimes shooed her to bed. The commander of the city watch carefully tucked her wife into bed. With pillows fluffed and the heavy, feather filled quilts pulled up over her, Sybil fell asleep instantly, her snores filling the room. 

Back down stairs, and Havelock stood in front of the fireplace. The light danced gloriously over her pale skin, catching in her eyes and in the strands of silver in her hair. She was a marvel. Sam leaned on the door frame, half a smile on her lips. 

'Are you going to stand there all night, commander?' Vetinari said without turning. 

'I might, the view is pretty good.' 

Havelock held out one slender hand, 'I'm cold.' 

Rolling her eyes, Vimes strode over, taking her hand. She stood behind her, arms wrapping around her slim middle. She turned in the embrace, one arm over Sam's shoulders. She leaned against Vimes, the pressure pleasant. Sam easily supported her weight. Her perfume filled Sam's senses, soft, surprisingly floral, but not sweet or heady. Perfect. 

Vimes pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw, smirking at her light laugh. Havelock pressed closer, raking her nails through the commander's hair. Scalp tingling, Sam picked her up, carrying her back to the sofa. Vetinari threw her head back, laughing and kicking her feet. 

'Oh, you do delight in sweeping me off my feet, don't you?' She teased, toying with Sam's shirt collar. 

'You weigh as much as my left leg, woman, it's not exactly a challenge,' Sam chuckled. 

Vetinari huffed, stretching out. She lay back against the arm rest, her legs draped over Sam's lap. The fabric of her dress shifted, and Vimes could see all the way to where thigh met hip. She swallowed, feeling heat rising. The patrician ran her fingers through her hair, mussing up the short strands. Some fell in her eyes and she gave Sam a truly unfair look. She was far too beautiful and knew exactly how to wield it. And Vimes was powerless. 

Running her hand up Havelock's exposed leg, Sam leaned in, propping herself up with an elbow on the armrest. Vetinari gazed up at her, eyes clouded and soft. Sam gave a lopsided smile, 'You alright?' 

Havelock cupped her cheek, reaching up to press the softest kiss to her lips, 'I adore you.' 

Vimes blinked, thoughts derailed. Brows notched, she pulled back, 'You've had a few to many, I think-' 

'Yes, maybe,' Havelock sat up so they were eye to eye. 'But it's also true. I love how you scoop me up and how your muscles think before your brain. You're so sweet, and stupid.' 

'Thanks?' Sam shook her head, and laughed softly. 'I get it. Thanks. I uh...I love you too.' She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. 

Havelock smirked, pulling Vimes back down, 'Good. Now I think you're capable of entertaining me until my carriage arrives, yes?' 

Vimes chuckled, hand slipping along her exposed thigh once more, 'Yes, sir, I think I am.'


	11. Frogs and Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovely Jumpin_Bean requested a chapter with a older young Sam and his loving parents!

Samuel Vimes (the younger) was 12 and armed to the teeth. On his hip sat a glass jar, the top covered by gauze tied with twine. A leather strap fastened so it hung like a satchel. In one hand he held a small net, and on his nose sat a pair of wire spectacles. A cap kept the warm afternoon sun off his face as he crept low through tall grass.

He stalked forward. Then stopped. He heard his prey before he saw it. A frog croaked in the rushes. He crept, silent and focused - Sam sprung.

Slamming the net down he nabbed the frog, the small creature pushing against the netting. Carefully, he placed the frog inside his jar, along with some water and a rock for it to sit on. He held the jar in both hands and ran.

'Ma! Ma!' He beamed, dashing up the bank of the river and up to the picnic site. His parents sat in folding chairs on a blanket. His Ma, Sybil, was darning socks while his namesake snored in her chair with a hat over her eyes.

He held the jar up triumphantly, grinning, 'I can finish my book now!'

'Oh, well done, Sam!' Sybil clapped her hands. Vimes snorted awake, knocking her hat off, 'What's all this?'

'Dad,' Young Sam trotted over, thrusting out the jar. 'Look!'

Vimes blinked into the surprisingly large froggy eyes, and smiled weakly, 'Well then, clever clogs. You uh...certainly got him.'

Young Sam set the jar on the blanket before pulling out his sketch book. With precision he sketched the frog, making notes on the opposite page in small, neat script. With watercolours and pencil Young Sam rendered the frog in all its glory. Happy with his work he stood, and quickly took the jar back down the river bank. He untied the twine, crouching down. The frog jumped into the water with a plop.

'Sam!' Vimes called, standing on the bank, hands on her hips. 'We need to head back - it's nearly time, kid!'

'Alright, dad!' Young Sam called back, running to his parent. Vimes ruffled her son's hair, pulling him in for a one-armed hug. She kissed the top of his head, 'Gods above, you're getting tall.'

'Dad,' Sam whined. 'You say that every day!'

'And it's true! You're going to be taller than me soon,' She said as they walked to the carriage. The family rode back to the manor, Sybil and Young Sam chatting brightly about his find.

The country house was decked out in all manner of finery. Servants dashed around, setting plates and trimming flowers. Somewhere in the depths of the house Lady Sybil was giving orders. Young Sam, however, was in his room. He sat at his desk, the suit his mother picked out on his bed. Tapping his pencil, he gazed out the window. A black carriage pulled by black horses made its way up the drive. He grinned. Packing away his journal, he hurriedly got dressed.

Young Sam dashed downstairs just in time to see his god-mother stride into the front hall. He skidded to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and stood tall.

'Aunty,' He said, bowing.

Havelock Vetinari looked him up and down, then gave him an approving nod, 'Sam.' She swept gracefully over to him. The young boy offered her his arm. Together they walked into the sitting room where Sam Vimes (the older) was having a quiet smoke. She smirked at the sight, shaking her head.

'You're looking well, sir,' Vimes said, automatically pouring the patrician a drink. Vetinari simply shrugged, sitting on the sofa with her god-son, 'Thank you for saying so, Vimes. Now, if only I could feel how I look...'

'Are you sick, aunty?' Young Sam frowned. She shook her head, giving his arm a pat, 'No, darling. I'm simply old,' She chuckled then. 'A fact that surprises everyone, including myself.'

'Here, here,' Vimes gave her a knowing smirk, clinking her glass against the patrician's. 'Welcome to the "shocked to have made it this far" club, sweetheart.'

Havelock sipped her drink with a wry smile, 'I'm surprisingly happy to be here.'

Young Sam looked between the two of them with a frown, 'Hang on, aunty. You're not that old. Not like dad - she's ancient.'

'Hey!' Vimes frowned at her son. 'We're the same bloody age-'

'Language, Sam!' Sybil stood in the doorway; arms crossed. Young Sam sunk into the couch, hugging a cushion to hide his cheeky grin. Vetinari gave him an equally mischievous look as the wives left, squabbling good naturedly. She nudged him with her elbow, cocking a brow, 'I have something for you,' She whispered.

From the folds of her cloak, Vetinari pulled out a plain black book, with a simple black leather cover. The edges of the paper were coated with a light shimmer of silver. Young Sam opened it to the first page and ran his hand over the marbled pages.

'Aunty! This is so nice,' He hugged it to his chest.

'Happy birthday,' Vetinari gave him a tight hug. 'Only the best for you, my dear. Come, let's go dance - unless, of course, you're much too old now to dance with your ancient aunt, with her rickety old bones-'

Young Sam stood, hand over his heart, 'Nah! How could you say that! You're way too cool.' With a flourish he brandished his hand out for her to take, 'Hurry, before Ma catches us!' 

Lord Vetinari, arm in arm with her god-son, hurried into the ball room. A small band were already playing, a few of the early guests mingling. Young Sam led his god-mother to the centre of the room. He barely noticed people staring. Why should they? It was not strange for someone to dance with their aunt - the fact that she happened to be the dark and dangerous dictator of the city meant nothing to him. 

To young Sam, Havelock Vetinari had the best gossip, gave the best presents, and was his other mother. He didn't have any important life memories that she wasn't in some way apart of. When he was 9, she had cared for him when his parents were away in some far-off country. And when a clacks came that Sam Vimes was wounded, Havelock Vetinari had 1) not hidden the information from him, and 2) cradled a sobbing child all through the night, never letting him go even as sleep took them both. He loved her as much as his other parents, and knew they loved her just as much. 

The pair waltzed with an impressive ease. As the final note rang through the ballroom, they struck a pose. Sam giggled, bowing low with a flick of his tail coat. 

As the night wore on, young Sam danced with his mother and had a cake eating competition with his dad. When the clocks struck midnight, everyone cheered for the newly teenaged Samuel Vimes. He was even allowed a sip of his mother's wine (and promptly spat it out). 

Sybil led the family party upstairs. They all gathered in the master bedroom, young Sam curling up on the bed, head heavy. He dozed, barely stirring when Havelock pressed a kiss to his cheek, stroking her thumb over his hair. 

'Sweet boy,' She smiled, casting a look at Vimes. 'The gods only know where he gets it from.' 

'It sure as hell isn't from you or me,' She agreed, smiling at her sleeping son. 'We still gotta give him his present.' 

Sybil shook her head, 'Tomorrow. Let our baby boy sleep.' 

'Not much of a baby anymore,' Vimes said, arm around her wife. 

Sybil sighed, 'No, don't say that.' She laughed softly, 'He's still so young.' 

'And yet he's so close to being a young man,' Vetinari said, sitting on a plush armchair. 'Have you thought any more on my proposal-' 

'He's not going to the assassins,' Vimes said sharply. 

'All I’d need to do is pull the tiniest of strings. A clinical mind like his would do well-' 

'I told you -' Vimes started but Sybil snapped her fingers, 'Stop it. Right now, you two. Leave it. We're having a nice night, don't start snapping at each other. I've told you both,' she gave Sam a look, 'That when the time comes, he can decide. Let him sleep. He's still a child.' 

Vimes shuffled uneasily but nodded, 'Yeah. Sorry love. I'll...take him to bed.' She carefully scooped him up, carrying him out of the room. Her son snuffled softly, blinking up at her as she navigated the doorway. 

'Hey dad,' He yawned, rubbing his face with a clumsy hand. 

'Hey honey,' She smiled, setting him on his bed. She sat down, unlacing his shoes. With tender hands she removed them, tucking the shoes under the bed, ‘You okay?’ 

‘Yeah,’ He mumbled, hugging his pillow. ‘-Mm fine. Just tired.’ 

Vimes took his hand, running her thumb over his skin, ‘I know, baby.’ 

Sam gave a small half snore, then frowned, ‘Dad?’ 

‘I’m still here.’  
‘Good. Love you.’ 

Brows notched, Sam Vimes leaned in and pressed a kiss to her son’s forehead, gently stroking his hair, ‘I love you so much, son. You mean the world to me. You and your mother, I-’ she shook her head. ‘You are so good. I’m so proud of you, Sam. You’re gonna be a fine.’ 

Samuel Vimes (the younger) was now 13 and sound asleep. Unaware of the small, happy tears that filled his dad’s eyes, and the silent whisper of thanks, to whatever gods were listening, for the love of that boy and his family.


	12. Reunited at Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a few years after part 7 (stolen moment at midnight)

Music flooded the large halls of the palace. Waiters hurried around carrying trays of tiny expensive foods and cocktails. It had been a month since Havelock took over the Patricianship and the garishness of the party was not her doing. None of the evening festivities were actually for her, or by her. But nobles wanted stability. They wanted to preen and show off and pray for her benevolence. 

Havelock Vetinari sat alone. In one hand she held a drink (sparkling water) her long legs crossed. People murmured around her, casting glances she pretended not to catch. They all watched her like deer, as if waiting for her wolfish stare to toll their end. As if dripping knives were on display. But mostly they stared because, it turned out, Havelock Vetinari was a woman. 

Her lips tugged at the corner. That had been a fun revelation for the guild. The look on Downey's face was priceless. Oh, how she had rocked that old boys club, shaken its very foundations. A mere taste of what she had planned for the entire city. 

She cast her eyes around the room, sipping her drink. Her blood went cold. Across the dance floor was the only person she had truly wanted to see, and the only person who defiantly met her gaze. 

Sybil Ramkin was stunning. Her blue gown rippled in the lights; her cheeks flushed. And those amber eyes burned hotter than dragon fire. They hadn't seen each other in three tumultuous years. Whatever letters they could write were sparse, and coded. Havelock had broken her heart, and never asked forgiveness. She'd broken her own heart in the process, taken away the one weakness she allowed herself. That woman was a beacon, a star she would have followed over the edge of the world in another life. Breaking her heart weighed on Havelock. She loved her. She would always love Sybil Ramkin, how could she not? The woman was strong, witty, and kind. So kind that she replied to all of Havelock's letters. Vetinari did not deserve that kind heart. 

Havelock got to her feet, hiding her shaking hands behind her back. She had to be like steel, like wrought iron in the shape of a girl. Sybil crossed the dance floor to stand in front her old friend. 

'I suppose congratulations are in order,' She said coolly, hands clasped in front of her. She held one out, small burns crossed her knuckles. Fresh. Havelock took her hand and bowed, lips brushing her raw skin. She lingered a second too long. 

'Thank you,' Havelock said as she straightened. 'And may I again offer my condolences for the loss of your father.' 

Sybil tucked her kissed hand behind the other, thumb running over the skin, 'Thank you. The flowers you sent were beautiful, by the way. I can't remember if I thanked you for them.' 

She hadn't. Sybil had simply written "You should have been here" in reply. The ink had been smudged; the card water stained. Tear stained. 

'Would you,' Havelock coughed to clear her closing throat. 'Would you join me in getting some air?' 

Sybil gave the smallest nod, stepping back to allow the new Patrician to sweep out of the hall first. All eyes were on them as they left. The whole city knew. Before she had been outed, every man and his dog thought the young nobles would wed. But oh! How cruel, to have strung along young miss Ramkin, using her as a cover. The sweet, plump girl swayed by the cruel manipulator. The rumours were vicious and scathing. Havelock would have cut out every tongue if she could. Sybil didn't deserve their pity, not for the reasons they gave it. 

Her new secretary, Lupine Wonse, materialised by her side, but she waved him away. He slid back into the shadows with a nervous nod. No one knew what to make of her. Yet.

Their footsteps echoed. Sybil and Havelock fell into step, walking side by side in the dimly lit corridor. With her arms behind back, Vetinari sucked in cold air. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she gave no outward sign. 

‘Are you,’ Sybil began, clicking her tongue awkwardly. ‘Are you going to continue to wear more...masculine clothing? Now that...everyone knows.’ 

‘I like the ease of movement,’ Vetinari said. ‘It reminds me a bit of my dancing days back when I lived with my aunt. I was never one for gowns.’ 

Sybil simply hummed, not quite meeting her gaze. By silent agreement the two stopped in an alcove, the flickering shadows from the candles casting odd shapes on the walls. Havelock stepped back into the shadows, pressing herself into a corner. She leaned against the stone wall, toying with the cuff of her sleeve, ‘I am sorry.’ 

‘What for?’ Sybil asked, reaching up to poke at a line of dripping wax. 

‘Everything,’ Came the near silent whisper. Vetinari swallowed, watching Sybil carefully as she rubbed the wax between thumb and finger. She turned, staring into the shadows. And stepped forward. 

‘Don’t be,’ Sybil said, joining her. ‘I understand. Your duty to the city came first – comes first.’ She leaned against the opposite wall, the pair shrouded. 

Gods, but she was beautiful. Havelock stared. Openly stared at her. The memory of her softness, her firm hands, the pull of her and the constant ache of need always resurfaced at night, in those moments before sleep. She would dream of Sybil. Smell her perfumes, the scent of dragons and leather. The feel of her lips. Dreams and memories blurred over the years, and all the while Havelock had held it inside. She hadn’t told a soul. She hadn’t a soul to tell, but she cradled those feelings close. 

She had tried to push it behind her. Her travels during the Grand Sneer had lead her into Uberwald, and into the halls of one Lady Margolotta. A charming vampire, her ladyship had been a wonderful host. She had opened her libraries for Havelock, welcomed her to stay. And she had. Vetinari stayed in those halls and near drowned herself in books and wine and allowed herself to be swayed by the much older woman. The “relationship” wasn’t serious. It never could be. But they shared the time well, and their verbal and mental sparring had been a delight. The sex had also been...enlightening. 

Yet through it all, Havelock still held her love for Sybil tight in her chest. Deep in her heart. In her bones.  
Sybil stepped forward, and touched Vetinari’s face, ‘Let me look at you.’ Hand on her chin she turned the yielding Patrician’s head one way then the other. No doubt clocking the new scars. Her thumb stroked her cheekbone and Havelock’s heart stopped. 

When Sybil’s hand moved from her cheek to the nape of her neck, Havelock dared not move. Not even as her one love kissed her. It was brief, nearly chaste, and yet it scorched her. Havelock’s mouth burned in a way she hadn’t felt in years. That she never thought she would feel again. 

Pushed back against the wall, Havelock did not resist as Sybil kissed her again, harder, angrier. With her hands on Sybil’s waist, she pressed their bodies together. Years of longing and hurt and desire poured between them, sparking the air like electricity. They fell easily back into the rhythm. Havelock kissed her neck, feeling her pulse quicken. Sybil’s hands fumbled with her shirt, slipping under dark fabric to touch a bony hip. Her hand rose, following the dip of her waist to her ribs - 

Havelock hissed, gently pushing her hand away, ‘Not there.’ 

Sybil broke from her, ‘You’re hurt?’ 

‘It’s nothing,’ She said, closing the gap. But Sybil held out a hand, placing it gently on her chest, ‘Take me to your room.’ 

It was nothing special. A bed, a chest of drawers and a writing desk. Havelock lit a candle, palms sweating. Sybil gave the room a once over and sighed with a small curl of her lip. Then she set her eyes on Vetinari once more. 

‘Why are your ribs broken?’ She asked, arms folded over her large chest. 

‘I never said they were-’ 

‘Don’t even try it,’ Sybil shook her head. ‘Talk.’ 

Havelock sighed. She locked eyes with Sybil and slowly removed her top layers. Cloak, shirt and singlet removed, she stood wearing a simple black cropped top that lay tight across her chest, keeping what little chest she had flat. There were bruises up her left side, along her ribs. Sybil scanned her body. She reached out, tracing her fingertips over a deep and barely healed gash along the dip on the right side of her waist. 

‘I didn’t realise your work had been so...difficult,’ she whispered. Havelock touched her cheek, tilting her face up, ‘It’s nothing I can’t handle, my love-’ the words escaped her before she realised. Both women sucked in a breath, staring. 

Tears welled in Sybil’s beautiful amber eyes. She punched Vetinari’s shoulder, ‘Fuck you.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Havelock chuckled sadly, smiling in a way that did not meet her eyes.

Then Sybil kissed her again, on her cheek this time, running a light hand down her spine. Havelock shivered, ‘I don’t deserve you.’ 

‘No, you don’t,’ Sybil said. She ran a hand through Havelock’s cropped black hair, ‘But I think we both know what we want right now.’  
‘I missed you,’ Havelock whispered, walking backwards as Sybil stepped forward, guiding her to the bed. She sat on the thin mattress, hands out behind herself as Sybil leaned down.

‘I know,’ Sybil whispered. She kissed her forehead, ‘I missed you, too.’


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This deals with pet death

In the ensuite of her bedroom, Sam stood with a towel wrapped around her shoulders. It was clipped closed at her throat, wet hair dripping. She stared at her reflection, raising a pair of scissors. Snip. Snip. Small twists of brown hair landed on the floor. Other than the towel she wore a pair of loose shorts and a binder. She heard movement on the bed behind her.

'Commander,' drawled a cool, lazy voice. 'If you ask nicely, I'm more than willing to help.'

'Thanks,' Sam caught Vetinari's eye in the mirror. 'But no thanks.'

The tall, lithe woman leaned on the doorframe, her silk nightgown falling in soft black ripples. A strap slid off one thin shoulder and Vimes' mouth went dry.

'You'll be uneven,' Havelock yawned behind her hand, head tilted.

With a shake of her head, Sam returned to her task, 'No way I'm letting you hold something sharp around my ears.'

'I would never cut off your ears, dear,' She smirk. 'Sybil would scold me.'

Sam chuckled as another tuft of hair flittered down, 'Ah yes, and no other reason to spare my ears, then.'

'Of course not, you hardly ever use them-'

'DAAAAAAD!' The scream cut through them both. In a second Vimes was out the room, the towel ripped from her shoulders. She bounded down the hall way. 

Barrelling into young Sam's play room, she found him kneeling on the floor. His small round face was bright red and tear streaked. He sucked in little puffs of air, arms tight around a small, limp body. Shit, thought Vimes. This just HAD to happen while his mother was away.

'M-Mister Pop-poppy won't wake up, dad,' the little boy sniffed. Vimes knelt beside her son just as Vetinari got to the doorway. She blinked, slipping a small yet cruel dagger back into the fold of her nightgown. Vimes sighed, looking down at the old dragon in her son's arms. Poor Mister Poppy. A small, fireless creature who was the young boy's dearest friend.

Young Sam gently stroked the dragon's ears, crying. He fell against his Vimes' side, 'He's not gonna wake up...'

Wrapping her arm around his small, shaking shoulders, Vimes nodded, 'Yeah. I'm sorry, Sam.'

'What are we going to do, dad?' He blinked up at her, lip trembling. And her heart broke. She kissed his forehead, hugging him tight.

'Shall we hold a funeral?' Havelock said softly. The little boy peered around his parent and smiled softly, 'Hi aunty.'

'Hello, darling.'

Vimes gave his shoulder a squeeze, 'Say, how about you and your aunt go get dressed and washed up. We'll give Mister Poppy a proper send off, yeah?'

Young Sam nodded, carefully getting to his feet, 'Are you going to bury him, dad?' 

'Yeah,' She said. 'How about under the big tree? You two liked to play there, didn't you?'

The little boy nodded, new tears forming. Vetinari swept in, scooping him up in her arms. He sat on her hip, arms around her neck. After they left Sam sunk onto the floor. Fuck. Fuck! She grabbed a sheet from the cupboard. Carefully she wrapped Mister Poppy in the makeshift shroud.

She carried him outside, placing his body in the wheelbarrow along with a shovel. Pulling on her boots, Vimes head into the garden. The shovel broke the earth, and Vimes swore. She had been to a lot of funerals. Too many times she'd watched grave diggers bury her friends, family. When it was a watchman, she had protocol to fall back on. Make a speech, get his mates to make a speech, do a whip-round for flowers, buy a round of beers at the pub afterwards and make sure his family - whether parents, wife, kids - were taken care of. But she sure as hell couldn't make a "Kids who loved their ugly old dragons" fund, now could she? There was no prepared speech she could rattle off. Vimes was going to have to look into the face of her child and explain death. She had to be the one, Vetinari sure as hell could not be. Vimes knew she wouldn't be...flippant about it, not to young Sam, but she was an assassin for goodness sake! You just can't have an assassin explain to a little boy about his pet's eternal rest. Probably shouldn't have a watchman do it either, but hells bells, she would.

Laying the shovel down, Sam hurriedly picked flowers. She wished Sybil was there. She'd know what to do. And if nothing else, Young Sam could hide against the soft warmth of his mother. Instead, he was going to have his awkward dad and cold aunt. Great.

Havelock and Young Sam walked down the garden path, hand in hand. The boy was dressed in dark blues, his hair hidden by a cap. Havelock had changed into her dress from their date the night before, with a jumper about three sizes too big to cover up the plunging neckline. Vimes bit back a small chuckle. It was her damn jumper with Sybil's attempts to patch the elbows in bright pink wool. In her other hand, Havelock held a shirt and tossed it to the grateful Vimes. She hurriedly pulled it on over her binder. Kneeling, Vimes handed her son the flowers, 'Here, Sam.'

The little boy peered into the hole his dad had dug and frowned, 'He's going in there?'

'Yeah,' Vimes said. 'Under his favourite tree.'

'Won't he get bored?'

Sam blinked looking to Vetinari. The patrician elegantly sat on the grass, arm around the child's waist, 'No, darling, he won't. He's passed away.'

The child frowned, but nodded. He sniffled, leaning against his aunt. With great care, Vimes lifted the shrouded body of Mister Poppy. Young Sam reached over and patted the bundle, 'Bye...' He whispered, crying.

Laying the bundle into the hole, Vimes leaned on the shovel, looking between her son and the grave. She cleared her throat, 'Mister Poppy was uh...A good dragon,' She said. 'He liked his sandwiches, didn't he Sam?' The little boy nodded with a little smile. She continued, 'And he was good at catching rats, surprisingly. Mister Poppy,' she sighed, 'Was a good friend and will be greatly missed.'

Young Sam stood at the edge of the grave and tossed the bundle of flowers on top, 'Bye Mister Poppy. You're my best friend.'

Eyes misting, Vimes began shovelling dirt into the grave. Havelock stood, cupping the little boy's cheek, 'Darling, shall we go find a nice big stone to place on top? So we will always know where to find him?'

Hand in hand aunt and child went searching, leaving Vimes to fill in the grave. She patted the dirt down firm, and placed a few more flowers on top. Grunting, Young Sam returned, carrying a heavy stone all on his own. With his dad's help they placed it against the tree. Later, Vimes would come out and carefully paint the name "Mister Poppy" on it, but for now, she took her son's hand in hers, and lead him back to the house.

'Hey,' She said. 'Do you want to have some cake, Sam?'

'Yes, please,' Her son said, brightening. Havelock held his other hand, chuckling, 'Cake? For breakfast? We are special today.'

'Mum never lets me have cake for breakfast.'

'Well,' Vimes said. 'I think if she were here, your mother would make an exception.'

Young Sam nodded, kicking his boots off and hurrying into the kitchen. Taking a second together, Vimes pulled Havelock into a quick embrace, kissing her. When they pulled apart Vimes simply whispered, 'Thanks.' 

Vetinari gave her a little smile, gave her back a loving rub, then strode in after Young Sam, 'Do you think there's any strawberries, Sam?' 

'Yeah!'


End file.
